


(from now on) our troubles will be out of sight

by abigailcathleen



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Roommates, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigailcathleen/pseuds/abigailcathleen
Summary: Even though Billy hates Christmas and Stevetotally respects that, he’s still Steve’s roommate, hisfriend, Steve stillreally caresabout him, and there’s something about this time of year that makes Steve really want to show it. So a couple days before Christmas Eve, he calls Jonathan and gets to work.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 44
Kudos: 344
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	(from now on) our troubles will be out of sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettyboyporter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/gifts).



When Steve gets home from work, Billy is sprawled out on the couch, idly flipping through channels on the tv set, like he does every evening. 

Steve has gotten to know Billy’s routine since they started living together a few months ago. He knows he’s going to flip through all the channels three times, land on a game show or the news for a minute, then opt to just read a book instead. When Steve turns to hang his jacket on the coat rack, he spots a worn copy of Frankenstein that he’s pretty sure he forgot to give back in 11th grade English Lit on the kitchen table. There’s a bookmark peeking out of it. 

It makes Steve feel oddly warm and fuzzy to piece all of this together so intuitively. It makes him feel like he’s coming home. 

They live in a dinky two-bedroom on the edge of town, filled with mismatched furniture from Joyce and Hop and the Hendersons. They’d decided to move in together in the fall. Billy had finally been discharged from a several week stint in the hospital post-Starcourt; Steve was settling into his new job at Family Video. They’d started hanging after one afternoon in late August that Billy and Steve were both dropping the idiots off at the arcade. Billy, so much paler and thinner and a little softer around the edges than before, started spluttering out some semblance of an apology before Steve stopped him, handed him a cigarette, and told him _just don’t try and break my fucking nose again, alright?_

Turns out they were both itching for a change, needing to get out of their parent’s places. Steve because his parents were never there and he hated the house’s hollowness, Billy because, even though Neil had finally gotten kicked out, his house was like one big bad memory. They figured it’d be cheaper to split a place, not to mention that if one of them woke up screaming in the middle of the night, ablaze with nightmares, they wouldn’t have to explain it. 

They were right. And it’s been so nice, something Steve never thought he’d think about _living with Billy Hargrove_. They’ve put polaroids on the refrigerator door. Steve’s got a tape deck in the living room and Billy will play him his favorite cassettes sometimes. Steve’s always so fucking cold and it’s getting worse now that it’s becoming one of those unforgivable Indiana winters and Billy will toss knitted blankets from Joyce at Steve before Steve even says a word. Billy says it’s because he hates that Steve complains about the cold all the time and _it’s not fuckin’ cold, Harrington, god,_ but it makes Steve feel, like, _seen_ in a really nice way, the way Billy just knows. They drink beer or get high together and laugh until the early hours of the morning. Billy leaves to work at the garage at the absolute _ass crack_ of dawn, and still, he’ll stay up and shoot the shit with Steve if Steve asks him. 

They’ve learned how to move about each other. There is a silent understanding of their respective ticks, their habits, their tells. Billy can tell when Steve is filling with nervous energy. He knows to speak softly and not make sudden movements when Steve is like that. Steve knows that he should never try and get into Billy’s room when the door is closed, knows that when Billy gets heated and angry that he just needs to be alone, just needs some space. 

Billy makes him feel safe, makes him feel _good_ in a way he didn’t know he could, like there’s a warmth in his stomach and a lightness in his chest. And yeah, those fluttery feelings make Steve feel… kinda weird sometimes, but in like, a good way? 

More than anything, it’s nice. All of it is. It feels like Steve’s building some sort of life. It’s nice to feel like he’s coming home. Like he’s coming home to someone. 

Billy tips his head back to catch Steve’s eyes. “Hey.” He goes back to idly flipping. 

Steve drops his bag on the kitchen table, shucks off his coat and drapes it over one of the chairs. Grabs two beers from the fridge, pops off the tops, and walks behind the couch to pass one to Billy, claps him on the shoulder. “Isn’t that mine?”

“Hm?” Billy takes a long swig and lands on _Jeopardy!_

“The book.”

Billy keeps his eyes trained on the screen. “Not like you were gonna read it.”

“Wasn’t that on my bookshelf? Like, in my room?”

“Don’t think you’ve read a single fuckin’ thing on that bookshelf.”

“When did you go into my room?”

“You haven’t, have you? Read any of ‘em?”

“... Fine. You got me.”

“Knew it. And I only go in there when I need something.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work…” Steve says, but he says it around laugh, light, teasing. Doesn’t really care that much, just likes to poke at Billy sometimes. It kinda reminds him of a high school, in a weird way. But like, minus all the blood. He takes a long swig of his beer then heads back to the kitchen table to rummage through the fridge to make dinner. “Saw Hop today, by the way. Came by the store.”

Billy’s murmuring to himself and the tv, lips pressed to the mouth of his beer bottle. “Answer’s Babe Ruth. Idiots.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “He came to say that Christmas is at his place this year. Six o’clock Christmas Day. Said the Byers are driving down from Maine and everything for a couple of days.”

Billy just hums, mouths along with most of the answers. Must be all the fuckin’ reading. 

“Said you and me are in charge of cranberry sauce, ‘cause, and I quote, _it’s the one thing you doofuses can’t fuck up._ ”

Billy huffs. “Oh, I’m not going to that.”

Steve shuts the fridge at that, convinced he hadn’t heard correctly because what? He takes a few steps towards the living room. “What’re you talking about? Why wouldn’t we go?”

“Not saying you aren’t going, just saying I’m not.”

“Why not? You got plans?” He was pretty sure Billy told him he wasn’t going to Susan’s...

“No.” Billy just keeps drinking his beer, watching the contestants buzz in over and over. As if he’s not just saying _oh yeah I’m not fucking coming to Christmas._ Like it’s all fine and normal. 

Steve feels a little silly, the way his voice is raising, the way he’s getting kinda pissed. But it’s _Christmas_ with _everyone_ and Billy’s _apart of that_ and he doesn’t understand why Billy _isn’t getting that._

“Then why not?”

Billy’s throwing his head back against the couch and groaning in the dumb dramatic way he often does. Steve usually finds it kinda endearing (kinda _cute,_ if he’s being honest), but right now it’s just frustrating. “Just ‘cause, alright? Would you lay off?”

“No, why not? I wanna know why.”

“Because I hate Christmas, alright?” Billy snaps, shutting off the tv with a pointed click. He gets off the couch and storms over to Steve, getting all up in his face, fire in his eyes like he used to get before picking a stupid fight. “I don’t wanna be cheery or wear a stupid sweater or see a bunch of people. You can do what you want, I’m not stopping you.” He pushes at Steve’s chest with two thick fingers, hard and antagonizing, and Steve feels a burn where they’re connected and something twisting unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. “I’m just not going. Alright? Fuck.” He storms into his room and slams the door shut behind him. The next second, music is blaring through the walls. Steve feels an even more pointed chill than before. 

Steve wants to bang on his door and talk to him, apologize, yell, something. Wants to get to the bottom of this. Wants to get Billy to change his mind. But he’s learned over the course of living with him that this is Billy’s biggest tell of all: when Billy shuts the door, let him lock it from the inside, let him blare music and let off steam. He’ll come back out when he’s ready. He always comes back out. Eventually. 

Billy doesn’t emerge from his room for the rest of the night. Steve spends most of the night sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the book. 

The next day, Steve comes home after work to find the table set for two and Billy standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. 

“Hey,” Steve says as he drops his backpack by the door and his car keys in the dish by the front door. He hadn’t seen Billy before he left for work—literal _ass crack_ of dawn, he starts—so he’s not sure exactly where they stand since last night, wants to keep it casual and light. “You gotta date or something?” 

“What?” Billy turns from the stove to look at Steve. His eyes scan the set table, the wooden spoon in his hand. “Oh. I, uh. Know you love soup. And you’re always complaining that you’re cold. So.” Steve thinks he can see the hint of a flush on Billy’s cheeks, but Billy’s turning back to the stove too quick for Steve to decide. 

Steve shrugs off his coat and then steps into the kitchen with tentative steps like he’s trying not to spook Billy. “You’re… making me… soup?”

“Yep,” Billy says without turning around. His words are clipped and short, lacking the usual drawl of his voice, the way he usually talks like he loves to take up space. Steve admires that kind of confidence, even if Billy’s a little cocky sometimes, or most of the time. Especially after the summer, it’s nice to see that kind of Billy, the one who’s confident and sure, but humbled and less on edge. 

“You’re making us soup. You’re making us dinner. Because I complain about being cold,” Steve’s questioning, but once the silence settles, it starts to _click._

“Yep.”

“You’re cooking me dinner and you set the table—”

“Christ, Harrington,” Billy’s dropping the spoon in the pot and grabbing a ladle. “Yes. I am making us dinner. Are you dense?”

Steve can’t help the smile creeping onto his face, the teasing tone. “Billy, are you trying to... say sorry?”

“What? Jesus...” Billy’s turning to gesture at Steve with the ladle and he’s all flustered and it’s _awfully_ cute, the way Steve can just rile him up like this. “Steve, would you just sit down? It’s almost ready—”

“Because if you are, I mean, one, you could just say it—”

“Just tried to do something nice, _fuck_ , what’s with the third degree—”

“And two, I forgive you.”

Billy doesn’t say anything, just stops for a second and turns back to the soup. Starts ladling it into two bowls. Steve sits at his usual seat and Billy sets a steaming bowl of chicken noodle in front of him before flopping into his seat across from Steve. 

“And I’m sorry too,” Steve starts. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I wasn’t mad, not really. Just disappointed, I guess. I want you to come.”

Billy falters for a second but catches himself quickly and goes back to eating. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I want you to come? It's Christmas. And It’s like…” Steve sets down his spoon, wants to show that this is _important_. “Listen. My situation doesn’t really compare to yours, like at all, but I’ve always hated Christmas, too. Christ, my parents didn’t even think twice about spending Christmas away without me for the past few years and like… What I’m trying to say is, like, I kinda get it.”

Billy looks up from his soup to meet Steve’s eye for what seems like the first time that evening. Steve feels a little pang in his heart, one that he tucks away to figure out later, because Billy starts to speak. “It’s not like, full Charlie Brown. I didn’t get coal or shit. I almost wish I did, you know? At least it would make sense. When my mom was around, it was cool, but after that. It was just this day where everyone pretended to be all nice and love each other and whatever. Then the next day it was back to the regular old shit.”

Steve just nods. He wants to say the right thing but he doesn’t know what that is, and in these moments when Billy opens up to him, he doesn’t want to risk scaring him away by trying to crawl into that open space and seeing more of what’s inside. Billy reveals himself in little ways over time, Steve’s gotten to know. Little breadcrumbs here and there that Steve stores away. Steve’s just glad to be someone that Billy trusts enough to do so. 

They go back to eating their soup before Steve’s speaking again, aiming for light and casual. “Funnily enough, things started getting better for me when everything fell to shit. Like, the past few years have fucking sucked in a lotta ways, but I think I’m, I don’t know, a better guy now. And I have like, a real family now, you know? So Christmas is like… I get why so many people like it now.” He tries to keep his tone relaxed and keeps his eyes down towards his soup when he says the next part. “And you’re, you know, apart of that. So. I wanted you to come. But if you don’t wanna… I respect that. I won’t ask again.”

Steve sneaks a glance up at Billy who’s looking in Steve’s direction, but quickly ducking his head back down like Steve caught him. Steve thinks his eyes might look a little glossy. 

“I, uh,” Billy says, before clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Steve replies. “Thanks for the soup. It’s good.” He gets up to get some more. “And it really is fucking cold in here, like, we should call Bruce, could be the windows—”

“There’s nothing wrong with the windows, you just think it’s cold if it’s anything less than fuckin’ 90…” 

“No, I _don’t_!” Steve retorts.

“Christ, I’ll call Bruce. Eat your damn soup,” Billy says, but it’s around a laugh.

So Steve ladles up some more soup for him and Billy, settles back into the comfortable silence of spoons against bowls and can’t help but feel a smile tugging at his lips. He feels warmth blossoming in his stomach and maybe something akin to butterflies and just, well, eats his damn soup. 

The thing is, Steve does respect Billy’s decision. He does. And when he said he wasn’t going to push him, he meant it. 

So he keeps his few Christmas decorations pushed to the back of the closet. But he finds a string of colorful Christmas lights and thinks maybe this’ll be okay. A compromise. 

A few days later he puts up the lights in the living room, strung above the tv set, while Billy’s out getting cigarettes. When Billy comes home Steve tries to put on some air of nonchalance, doesn’t wanna make it a big deal. Just says _hey_ to Billy when he returns then curls up on the couch under a blanket Joyce crocheted because _the apartment is so fucking cold._ Steve just stares up at the lights for the moment and remembers the craziness from years ago. It makes his heartbeat speed up a bit, but he breathes through it, reminds him that he is _here_ right _now_ and there is nothing to be scared of, not anymore. Everyone’s fine. He’s fine. Billy’s fine. Christmas lights can just be Christmas lights, bright and cheery on the wall of his home. 

But Billy knows; Steve had told him everything that happened before Billy got caught up in all of it. Maybe that’s why he comes up behind the couch and leans on the back beside where Steve is sitting and says, “Not too shabby, Harrington.”

They’re silent, then, both looking up at the lights. Billy moves to shut off the rest of the lights in the apartment so it’s just the glow of the Christmas lights and street lamps outside illuminating the room in hazy streaks of color. When he’s done, he sits on the couch beside Steve and lights up a cigarette, the end of it blazing brilliant orange in the dark. 

Steve starts, quietly, “Didn’t mean to like—I know you don’t like… all this. Thought this might be okay.”

“It’s okay, man, really.” Billy continues puffing around his cigarette, a neutral and solid expression on his face that Steve can’t quite piece together, so he keeps going. 

“Like, I didn’t wanna _insinuate_ anything, you know? Your decision, what you said… I respect it.”

“ _Insinuate_? Ten dollar word, Harrington, gotta hand it to you.” Billy is laughing around clouds of smoke. 

“Listen, I just mean—” Steve is getting flustered. He wrings his hands under the blanket, not like Billy could see any way in the darkness of the apartment. 

“Relax. Seriously. They’re nice. I mean it,” Billy says. 

Billy hands Steve his cigarette and Steve stops the nervous wringing of his hands to reach out and take a long drag. Maybe it’s a placebo, maybe it’s the nicotine, maybe it’s Billy’s words, but relaxation is starting to wash through his body. 

They sit in the soft silence of the apartment for a moment. When Steve passes back the cigarette, he watches Billy in his periphery. He puffs around the cigarette, eyes trained ahead, brows in a tight line. Steve can’t quite place what it all means. He knows that Billy’s introspective even if he doesn’t admit it, catches him sometime lost in thought or flipping through the paper or pausing for a moment when he’s reading a book. Right now, though, it looks like Billy’s trying to keep something inside. Maybe like he’s trying to decide how to let something out. 

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “You gotta do anything tonight? Was thinking of rolling a joint, chilling, listening to some music, maybe… join me?”

The tension in Billy’s face loosens a bit. He speaks after a moment while he stubs the remainder of his cigarette in the dish they’ve deemed a makeshift ashtray on the coffee table. “Yeah, no, not doing anything. Let’s do it.” 

Steve grabs the hollowed-out copy of _Moby Dick_ that sits beside it that holds his stash, the one Billy gutted for him because _you don’t fucking read, Harrington, besides, I’ve already got a copy_. He’s thankful for the nicotine because his hands aren’t so fidgety when he rolls. He’s twisting the end when Billy gets up and walks to his room wordlessly. After a few long moments, he’s back with a cassette in his hands. 

“Cool if I choose the music?”

Steve _kinda_ wants to say no, knows it’s probably something metal or loud that he doesn’t mind listening to usually but doesn’t exactly fit the kind of moment he’s pushing for, but he’s thankful for the way Billy’s getting relaxed right now and doesn’t wanna jinx it. He says, “Sure, yeah.”

Steve’s surprised when Billy clicks the cassette into the tape deck and the sounds of piano chords fill the living room. Billy sits back beside him, props his feet up, and accepts the unlit joint from Steve. He places it between his lips and nods at the Zippo on the coffee table. Steve grabs it and makes to hand it to him, but Billy’s leaning towards him, eyes trained down. Steve can feel his jitters start to come back, wishes it was him with the joint between his lips. It’s intimate, more intimate than they’ve ever been, even though when he thinks about it, he and Billy have gotten so _close_ , closer than he ever thought they could, close in a way that’s different than the girls he’s dated or Robin or Nancy or Jonathan—

“You _do_ know how to work that thing, don’t you?” Billy’s saying around the joint, voice low and teasing. 

There’s something about the slight roughness of Billy’s voice that’s making Steve feel like he’s already taken a hit. The sounds of piano are making way for a soft voice and the way it’s pairing with the soft glow of the lights on Billy’s face is… _a lot._ He tries to snap himself out of it and succeeds enough to huff out a _yeah, fuck off_ , and light the end of the joint. 

Billy takes a long drag, tipping his head back against the couch and breathing in before blowing smoke out towards the ceiling. He takes another drag before passing it back to Steve who does the same.

The song is moving well into the chorus, triumphant and building in a way that feels significant to Steve. And not just because of the high that’s settling into his chest and making him sink further into the couch. 

“Never took you for a—what’s it—Simon & Garfunkel? Never thought you’d be a fan of ‘em,” Steve says, tipping his head back on the couch and turning his face to watch Billy as he breathes, head tipped up toward the ceiling still. 

“My mom was. She played me this record all the time when I was a kid. Neil got rid of all her records after she died. Glad I remembered what this one was, got a cassette of it a couple of years ago and hid it in the back of my closet.”

“Should play it more often,” Steve says after taking another drag and passing the joint back over to Billy. “I like this album.”

Billy takes another long drag, pensively, turns his head to mimic Steve’s position. His eyes are drooping with the high settling over him, but his stare still feels so intense to Steve, but maybe it’s just because they’re close. Feels like their noses could be brushing together… 

Billy blows smoke softly between them and it makes Steve feel hazy. Their eyes, half-lidded as they are, stay locked together. Steve feels himself melt further into the couch, head lolling slowly closer to Billy.

Billy holds up the rest of the joint between them and the moment dissolves, Steve shaking his head no, thanks. Billy sets it in the dish on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, pulling his feet up and tilting his head back again, shutting his eyes. Steve grabs the blanket that somewhere along the way fell on the floor and curls it around himself and over his head like a hood. 

The music is turning into something more upbeat and faster in tempo and Billy looks the way he does with his long neck stretched out in the glow of the Christmas lights and his hair spilling in messy curls over the back of the couch. Steve is feeling delirious with these sensations, almost giddy with the soft beauty of the moment. Feels high and weightless in just the right way, fights against the heaviness of his eyes so he can continue to bear witness to it all. 

They stay like this as the songs blend from one into the other. Billy gets up to flip the tape once it clicks to a stop, and Steve loves the song that starts to play, bobs his head along with the strumming guitar. Steve closes his eyes for a second and listens as Billy sings along softly. 

“Fuck, there was this… she’d play this one record,” Billy says when the song ends. “It had this kinda like, kinda Christmassy song on it. I remember she played it the Christmas before she got sick…” He lights up the joint again and takes another hit before passing it to Steve. “It was so sad. Pretty. But like. Wasn’t even fuckin’ happy, was just so sad.” He sinks back into the couch. “But I dunno. It’s like I can hear that song sometimes, when I miss her…”

“Wha’ was it?” Steve takes a hit then curls back into his blanket. 

“That’s the thing… I dunno… It was like… It was some chick… I dunno…”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find it. I’ll help ya find it, okay?” Steve reaches a hand out from beneath the blanket to heavily drop it on Billy’s thigh, doesn’t really register where it ended up until it’s been resting there for a few long moments. He continues, words sliding together, “I’m, like, really good at finding things…”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Cool. Thanks, Steve.” Billy starts giggling to himself and Steve joins when Billy starts tugging at the blanket where it’s drooping over Steve’s head. “Look so funny like that. ‘S kinda cute.” At the comment, Steve can feel himself flush, and Billy is giggling more and more and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen him _giggle_ like this, even when they’ve been high together before, and Billy just called him _cute_ and Steve can barely keep it together and also he’s _cold._

“I’m _cold_ , this apartment is so _cold,_ ” Steve whines, tuning out Billy when he’s all like _it’s not cold, you’re such a wuss._ “Billy, why am I still so _cold,_ I’m in a _blanket._ A _blanket._ ” 

“Jeez, jus’ come ‘ere, alright?” Billy drops his hand to rest on Steve’s arm through the blanket, and Steve feels all fuzzy when Billy’s fingers curl around him. 

“Hm, wha’?”

“Just… fuckin’...” Then Steve’s being grabbed and pulled towards Billy. Billy adjusts his arms around Steve over the blanket, limbs moving slow and draping around Steve nice and firm, until Steve’s getting the memo and thank _fuck_ he’s high right now because his inhibitions are lowered enough to lean into the moment, lean into _Billy,_ resting firm at his side and curling his legs over Billy’s lap. 

Steve doesn’t quite know how to cope with the closeness, tries to keep his thoughts from swimming into the trances of his mind, wants to keep the conversation _casual_ like the ones _roommates_ have. “Billy… Think the windows might be, like, need to be like, sealed or like...” Steve’s murmuring, mind cloudy and grasping for the words. Unsure if it’s the weed or _Billy_ or both. 

“I’ll call Bruce tomorrow or something…” Billy’s grumbling, voice sounding low with what sounds like fatigue. 

Steve loses himself for a moment in the warmth of Billy, letting his head settle into the crook of Billy’s neck. The scent of him is so potent here it’s heady. Part of his mind is telling him to chill out and pull back, part of him is just, like, _screaming_ , and all of him just wants to take advantage of this no matter what it means. He can’t help but nuzzle into the space there a little more while he says, “Could be... maybe the radiator’s acting up... or somethin’...”

“Steve, just… d’ya ever shut up…” Billy starts to chuckle low in his throat.

Steve can’t form a full sentence because he starts laughing, too, moving with the rhythm of Billy’s body. “Hey, I can… listen, I… Shit...” He tilts his head down a hair and presses his forehead into Billy’s shoulder pointedly before nuzzling back into his neck, can’t stay from that warmth for too long. That must be it. He’s _cold._ Right? “I’ll shut up.”

Steve feels Billy’s arms tighten around him as their giggles dissipate. His eyes are heavy and drooping with the pleasant high. He takes in the soft glow of the Christmas lights in their dim apartment, lets them blend into some continuous rainbow; listens to the strum of the guitar coming from the tape deck, listens as Billy whispers along with the lyrics; sinks further into Billy’s arms. 

“This is,” Billy whispers, words slurring together. “It’s nice.”

Steve feels light and happy and warm. 

Things are good, after that night. Steve stayed in Billy’s arms until the cassette clicked off and even after, almost falling asleep right there. Before he could, his high starting to mellow out and reality starting to set in, he said that they should probably head to bed and they went their separate ways. Not that he wasn’t liking it, because he _was,_ but maybe he was liking it _too much._ In a way that made the fluttering he’s felt in his stomach for weeks and the strong magnetic pull of Billy start to make sense in a way he’s not sure he should breach. 

Which is to say Steve’s been feeling… a lot of things when he’s around Billy, and since that night they’ve gotten even closer. Spent more nights pressed up against each other on the couch, Billy throwing an arm around Steve sometimes when he shivers because there’s definitely something up with the windows or radiator or something and Bruce is out of town until after the New Year. Billy doesn’t seem to mind though, says he runs hot and doesn’t mind sharing. Steve sure doesn’t mind, either. Not if the way he has to excuse himself to the bathroom or his bedroom some nights to… _cooldown_ is any indication. 

With all of that being said, as the days inch toward Christmas, Steve is conflicted with wanting to keep everything cool and chill but wanting to do something for Billy. Because even though he hates Christmas and Steve _totally respects that_ he’s still Steve’s roommate, his friend, Steve still really _cares_ about him and there’s something about this time of year that makes Steve really want to show it. So a couple of days before Christmas Eve, he calls Jonathan and gets to work. 

Christmas Eve seems like the best time for this for a couple of reasons. Partly because Billy works late but Steve gets off early, so Steve can get everything set up. Mostly because of Billy gets really mad at him for it, Steve will be out of the house the next day. 

He pulls more Christmas lights out of his closet and strings them up around the living room. He grabs all the spare blankets and pillows they have and piles them on the couch, mostly for his sake, admittedly. He orders pizza with extra olives even though he thinks it’s kinda overkill, but it’s Billy’s favorite. Buys beer that _isn’t_ the cheapest one at the store. 

He shuts off the lights like Billy did that night, but with all these lights the room is all the more bright and awash in color. It feels kinda _magic._ Feels kinda… like a date. 

Once that thought enters Steve’s head, he can feel the freak out starting to build in his stomach, starts to question the little wrapped object he’s got stashed in his room, is ready to tear everything down so as not to scare Billy away, but then the door is opening and Steve’s turning towards it. 

“Hey,” Billy says, toeing off his boots and tossing his keys in the dish by the door. “Fuckin’ blizzard out there it’s—” He stops when he turns to Steve. “What’s this? You gotta date or something?”

“I, uh, well—” Steve’s sputtering, because _obviously_ this looks like something someone would set up to get lucky. “Actually, it’s—um…”

Steve watches Billy’s eyes dart from all the Christmas lights to the blankets to the beer to the pizza— “That has extra olives.” Billy says, matter of fact, and then Steve sees it click together. “This,” Billy gestures to the room, “is for me?” 

“I know you said you hate Christmas and you don’t want to do anything for it and that’s fine and I respect that. But... today’s not Christmas. I thought we could just... do something together. If you want. Thought it might be nice.”

“Oh,” Billy says, he’s nodding slowly, like he’s too taken aback to know what to say. Steve doesn’t quite know how to read that but at the very least he doesn’t look angry. “You really did this for me?”

“I mean, yeah… Spirit of the season, I guess. Just wanted to… do something nice for you.” 

Billy walks into the living room slowly, brushing past Steve and taking everything in. “Well, shit,” Billy murmurs to himself before plopping down on the couch and popping open a beer. “Gonna join me?”

So Steve does. They drink beer and chat about their days and eat pizza and Steve picks off some of the olives and flicks them at Billy who tries to catch them in his mouth. They’re loose from the beer and laugh way too much when an olive hits Billy in the cheek. They lean close together when they laugh and Steve may or may not take the opportunity to scooch a little closer. Billy doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Should I put on some music?” Billy asks eventually. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Steve says, putting his half-empty bottle on the coffee table. “I, uh. I got you something. Hold on.”

Before Billy can protest, Steve darts to his room and comes back with a little wrapped gift. Billy stands to meet him in the middle of the living room. 

“Jonathan helped me find it… Told him everything you told me and he was _sure_ this was the one, so… uh, here.” Steve shoves the gift at Billy. 

He watches as Billy tentatively unwraps it and bites his tongue while all the wrapping paper falls to the floor. Billy holds the cassette in his hand and stares at it for a moment before moving wordlessly to the tape deck and putting it in. The plucking sounds of strings start to play and Steve watches as Billy scans the back of the cassette case. He starts fast-forwarding through the tape in short bursts. 

Steve starts, “So, I guess this is the right—”

“It’s the right one,” Billy says. 

He stops and straightens back up in a minute and what sounds like a really sad piano version of jingle bells starts to fill the room. Billy turns back to Steve who’s holding his breath. 

“C’mere,” Billy says quietly, almost a whisper. For a moment, Steve wonders if he’s misheard him, but then Billy reaches out a hand to him. Steve has no choice but to take it. 

Billy’s pulling him close and place his free hand on Steve’s waist. “Dance with me, dipshit.”

So Steve places his free hand on Billy’s shoulder and allows Billy to start moving them back and forth in a smooth sway. Steve’s glad for it because all of this is making him feel kinda lightheaded and he doesn’t know if his feet are even on the ground anymore. He’s lost in the pressure of Billy’s hand on his waist, the soft voice of the woman singing, the rainbow lights casting down on Billy’s face so close to his…

Billy tilts his face down to rest his forehead on Steve’s. “Never thought someone would give a shit about me like this,” Billy’s whispering, breath blowing warm on Steve’s face. 

Their closeness makes Steve feel so high that he doesn’t have any trouble replying, “I more than give a shit about you.”

“Yeah?”

“C’mon,” Steve whispers between them. “You gotta know how I feel about you.”

“And how’s that?” Billy asks, brushing their noses together.

“Billy,” Steve breathes. “I love you.”

“Steve…” Billy’s slowly, slowly leaning in and the song is building and Steve just lets his body sway forward just as slowly to meet him and then—

The apartment is plunged into darkness, silence. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Billy says. “Blizzard.” 

“I think there’s, uh,” Steve is trying to get his mind to work but he can’t believe _something was about to happen_ and then the _fucking power goes out_. “A flashlight. In the kitchen. And there’s some candles, I think…”

Billy tells him to stay there and he bumbles into the kitchen, bumping into things as he goes, until he’s shining a flashlight into the living room and coming back with some candles that he dumps on the coffee table. 

“Well.” Billy stands in front of Steve, holding the flashlight between them like they’re telling ghost stories. “Lights were nice while they lasted.”

“Yeah. Shit,” Steve curses. “Now it’s _really_ gonna get cold.” 

“Hey,” Billy says, reaching out to wrap his free hand around Steve’s wrist and tugging him slightly toward him. “Come to bed with me.” 

Billy must’ve heard Steve swallow down a gulp, because he’s jumping on his words quick and dropping Steve’s wrist. “I mean, I’m not tryna, like, _insinuate_ anything—”

“Insinuate,” Steve says softly, feeling bold, getting his hand back on Billy’s shoulder like he did when they were dancing. “Ten dollar word.” 

Billy’s shoulders release their tension at that. “Ten dollar word,” he replies. “Just mean it would be warmer, you know. We’d stay warm.”

Steve nods and drops his hand from Billy’s shoulder to scoop up the candles and his Zippo from the coffee table, and a blanket from the couch for good measure. Billy leads Steve into Steve’s bedroom.

Steve’s heart is fluttering the whole way there and it feels like it takes a split second but also a whole year to reach his dark bedroom, illuminated only by the flashlight Billy’s carrying and the minimal glow from the streetlamps outside. He busies himself with placing the candles around the room and lighting them one by one. 

When he’s done, he turns back to where Billy is standing beside his bed. Billy’s popping open the final buttons on his shirt and letting it slide off his shoulders to the floor. 

Billy catches Steve staring. “I know it’s cold, but like.” He gestures to his bare torso. “Hope this is okay.”

And it’s more than okay, maybe _too_ okay—yeah, Steve has seen Billy in various shades of undress over the time they’ve known each other, but _this_ … Billy’s skin is a new kind of golden in the soft candlelight. It’s like he’s a light source himself, and Steve is a helpless moth drawn to the flame. He can’t help himself when he steps up into Billy’s space to get his hands on him. He presses his hands over his chest, slides them down Billy’s torso to feel his abs and leave goosebumps over Billy’s skin. 

“ _Steve_ ,” Billy says breathlessly. 

Steve presses his forehead to Billy’s for a moment and takes a deep breath before finally, _finally_ , tilting up his chin and pressing his lips to Billy’s. 

Billy kisses Steve back tentatively, a soft and dry press of lips. Billy always seemed so sure of himself when Steve first met him, starting shit with whoever he wanted, slinging his arm around girl’s waists and tugging them to his body, throwing punches whenever he saw fit. Steve’s starting to think that the real Billy, or maybe the Billy that Billy really wants to be is just like this: one who is tentative, one who takes care. 

Steve curls his hands around Billy’s sides and squeezes, and it brings a little noise out of Billy’s lips. He must take that as an invitation because he’s pulling back slightly so he can fit his lips over Steve’s again, slipping his hands into Steve’s hair so he can get him impossibly closer. 

Their kisses speed up when their lips part against each other’s, and the first slip of Billy’s tongue in Steve’s mouth has Steve whining low in his throat, which is _embarrassing,_ but Billy doesn’t seem to care because he’s slipping one hand out of Steve’s hair to press down his back while they kiss and kiss. Billy’s hand settles low on Steve’s back and he pulls Steve flush against him and Steve didn’t realize he was already so _hard,_ but what’s even more surprising is that Billy’s hard _too_ , cock pressing against his hard and sure through the thin layers of fabric. 

Steve has to pull his lips away to catch his breath, is feeling so _dizzy_ because of all of this, but he keeps their foreheads pressed together and they pant into each other’s mouths. 

“Shit,” Steve pants out. “Is this—I’m cool with this if you are.”

Billy doesn’t say anything, just gets his mouth back on Steve’s for a quick second before pushing him down onto the bed. 

Steve’s sheets are cool on his back and he can feel the goosebumps forming over his body but he can’t bring himself to care, really, because he’s somehow so _warm._

Billy’s lowering himself on top of him in a second, the heat of his body enveloping Steve. Steve lifts his head up when Billy lowers his down and they meet deliciously in the middle, lips slotting together furiously, and Steve can’t _believe_ this; it’s like something out of a dream. 

Billy moves his lips to Steve’s neck and Steve tilts his head back to give Billy better access. Billy takes it and nips down the expanse of Steve’s throat before sinking his teeth into the point where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder. Steve groans at the pain of it, the pleasure, and Billy soothes over the mark with his tongue. 

“Thought I was crazy for wanting this,” Billy breathes hotly between wet kisses up Steve’s neck. “Never thought in a million years that you’d want this, too.”

Steve gets his hands in Billy’s curls and brings him back to his lips and kisses him hard, over and over, addicted to the taste of his mouth and the feeling of his tongue against his. Their kisses are getting heated and sloppy and Steve can’t ignore the tightness in his briefs and the way Billy’s just _pressing_ up against him like it’s nothing. He chances a roll of his hips up into Billy and Billy _moans_ and rolls his hips back and Steve feels like he’s about to fall apart. 

“This okay?” Billy pants into Steve’s mouth.

“Do you ever _shut up_ ,” Steve says before smashing their lips back together and kissing Billy quietly. 

Steve keeps rolling his hips up to meet Billy’s thrusts and it’s sloppy and inconsistent and _perfect_. The juxtaposition of the moment turns Steve on: it seems so still in the surrounding darkness, but the noises Billy’s making in Steve’s ear and the feverish movements of their bodies coming together feel so pronounced against the sharpness of the silence. Billy rolls down particularly pointedly and bites down on Steve’s bottom lip and the sensations create a tight heat low in Steve’s body. 

Billy’s suddenly _off_ of him, the coolness of the air settling quickly over Steve’s body, but then Billy’s sliding off his boxers to release his cock and Steve’s _flushing_ all over and gets his hands on his own briefs to shimmy them off. They take a moment to just _take in_ each other and Steve feels like he’s about to burst. 

“ _Fuck_ , Steve,” Billy drawls. He lowers himself back onto Steve and works on leaving a trail of kisses down Steve’s body and Steve knows where this is going and he’s _ecstatic_ and _terrified._

Only for a moment, though, because then Billy’s looking up at him from between his thighs, an eyebrow quirked, and Steve gives him a short, furious nod before Billy’s sinking his lips down over Steve’s cock. 

Steve wastes no time in getting his hand in Billy’s hair; he loves the feeling of his hand rising and falling with Billy’s movements. His mouth is warm and wet and lovely around his cock, and Billy’s _good_ at this, taking Steve’s cock down like it’s nothing, getting his nose in the thatch of hair at the base. Billy’s hands are firm at Steve’s side to stop him from squirming even though Steve wants to, wants to meet Billy halfway. He just shows his appreciation in loud and low noises instead.

“Billy, oh my god,” Steve moans. “I’m gonna—you’re so _good_ , gonna come.” 

Billy speeds up his movements, swirling his tongue around the head when he reaches the tip. Looks up at Steve through heavy-lidded eyes as he sinks up and down. 

“Billy, I’m gonna— _fuck_ , I’m coming,” Steve says, tugging on Billy’s hair in warning. 

Billy doesn’t move off, just takes Steve all the way as he comes, taking it all down his throat. He’s swallowing around Steve’s cock while Steve comes down, milking every last drop from him, and it’s almost _too_ much. 

Billy comes off Steve’s dick and immediately starts kissing at Steve’s hip, the softness of his belly, while Steve catches his breath. Then Steve’s got a mouthful of Billy, the taste of him hot in his mouth. 

Steve snakes a hand down while they kiss and gets his fist around Billy’s cock, wasting no time in jerking him off. 

“So close,” Billy breathes. “You’re so fucking sexy, the _noises_ you make, _fuck._ ”

Billy’s coming hot over Steve’s hand and stomach in a second, lips going slack over Steve’s as he moans through it. Steve keeps his mouth open, wants to swallow up all of Billy’s little noises as they come. 

They come down from the high of it together, chests heaving as they catch their breath. Steve reaches blindly to his bedside table to grab at some tissues and wipe them off before tossing the tissues haphazardly to the ground. Billy collapses down on him, skin slick with sweat, and kisses lightly up his neck before kissing him long, slow, almost chastely, on the lips. 

Billy separates their lips and presses his forehead into Steve’s. “Fuck.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Steve replies, dazed. 

“Warm enough?” Billy asks light and teasing. 

Steve just kisses him in reply. 

When Steve wakes in the morning, he feels loose and light and warm because Billy’s got him spooned from behind under the covers, arm thrown over his waist.

The memories of last night flood into Steve’s mind and he’s instantly awash with joy, feels his body flush when he remembers the way Billy kissed him, the sounds Billy made, the way he looked when he fell apart—

Steve thinks back to the cassette, the lights, the dancing, wonders for a moment if maybe it was all just a heat of the moment thing, if maybe Billy was just acting rash, if he's starting to regret last night—

But then he feels Billy moving behind him, rolling out his shoulders for a second before tightening his grip on Steve’s waist and pressing his lips to the back of Steve’s head. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers, a smile spreading wide over his face. 

“Morning, baby,” Billy whispers back. He presses a light kiss to the side of Steve’s neck. “Look outside.”

Steve looks out his window to see that the blizzard has dissipated into a light fall of snow that’s collecting in soft heaps on the ground. Billy wrapped around him, the snow falling in soft wisps, it’s the perfect start to—

“ _Shit_ ,” Steve says. “it’s Christmas.” 

“Sure is,” Billy laughs. “Hey,” he says. He grabs at Steve until he’s turning on his side to face Billy, Steve getting his hand on Billy’s cheek to stroke his thumb over the soft skin there. Billy’s so _beautiful_ in the morning light and he’s smiling at Steve in a way that feels soft and secretive and _just for him_ and— “I was thinking. If it’s cool,” Billy says. “Maybe I could… come to dinner tonight?”

Steve’s thumb stills on Billy’s warm cheek, glowing in the soft morning sun streaming through the window. Like a fucking angel. Steve needs to kiss him, so he does. Again and again and again. “ _Yes,_ ” Steve says between kisses. “Of _course_ you can.”

As much as they both would love to stay wrapped up together in the comfort of their apartment all day— _or forever_ , Steve thinks—they get into the Camaro and get to Hop’s cabin by 6. Billy’s even wearing one of Steve’s _Christmas sweaters_. 

Billy parks the car and Steve can see the brats through the window chasing after each other. Will spots them and waves furiously at them through the window. Steve raises a hand in a wave back, gets a hand on the door handle, but then Billy’s hand is firm on his thigh.

“Wait a sec,” Billy says. “Before we go in there… are we… I mean…”

Steve doesn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence. He knows what Billy’s trying to say. He _knows_ Billy. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, wrapping his hand around Billy’s on his thigh. “We are.”

They step out of the Camaro and Steve takes Billy’s hand in his again when they walk up the steps to the front door, which swings open, all the kids scrambling onto the porch to grab them in hugs. 

They’re all blathering at them in the crazy, all over each other way they all talk, sounds blending into a cacophony of garbled words and laughter.

Hop gives them a two-finger salute from the couch where he’s drinking a beer, Jonathan and Nancy say _hey_ from where they’re sitting at the kitchen table, and then Joyce is shutting the door behind them and ushering everyone back in. The kids go back to hanging tinsel _literally all over_ the living room. 

Joyce hugs them both long and tight, in the picture-perfect motherly way she does. Pats them both on the cheeks. 

Steve grabs Billy’s hand again and Joyce notes it, a smile spreading wide on her face, eyes bright and lovely. “You boys,” she says, shaking her head with affection. “Hop!” she yells over into the living room. “You owe me ten bucks!”

Steve and Billy look at each other. 

“Can’t believe you fuckers forgot the cranberry sauce,” Hop grumbles, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and a crisp ten-dollar bill out of it when Joyce walks over. 

“ _Shit,_ ” they both say. 

“Don’t worry,” Joyce calls, once she takes the bill out of Hop's hand. “I picked some up just in case. You’ll get it next year.” She pats Billy and Steve on their shoulders, giving them a smile that's sly but kind and genuine, before she heads back into the kitchen and everyone resumes their activities.

Steve squeezes Billy’s hand. “Guess we’ll have to do better next year, huh?”

“Yeah,” Billy smiles. “We’ll get it right next year. Hey,” he says, quietly, like they’re in their own bubble amongst all the movement and joy and noise of the cabin. He pulls Steve close and pecks him quick on the lips. “Hey. I never said. Merry Christmas.”

Steve rests his forehead on Billy’s so he can whisper between them, wants to keep this beautiful moment intact, perfect and untouched by the world around them. “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes love is a bowl of soup, Joni Mitchell's iconic album 'Blue', and fucking when the power goes out!! 
> 
> (Shout out, also, to S&G's album 'Bridge Over Troubled Water', which I figured was equivalent to the modern-day act of listening to Sufjan Stevens with someone you are stupid over in a gay way). 
> 
> Happy holidays, tracy7307, and anyone else who stumbled upon this fic! This time of year can really Suck, but I hope wherever you are, there is lots and lots of love and lots and lots of soup. <3


End file.
